The Healers

Chapter Six: Voldemort

The pristine white walls were decked with deep, emerald green slashed velvet. Streamers of black and silver silk were weaved around the marble columns, and large, tropical plants had been specially imported for the night and now sat strategically placed around the large hall. Thick candles floated above the heads of the guests, casting a red glow across the room.

The room should have looked festive, elegant and welcoming. Instead, the slashed green streamers and velvet made the very walls look as if they'd been viciously savaged by some supernatural force. The cold white walls looked sterile and distinctly austere, and the tropical plants seemed menacingly out of place. The melted wax that dripped downwards from the candles hovering above pooled on the cold marble floor, and in the red glow of the flickering flames the dripping wax looked frighteningly like blood. All this went unnoticed by the majority of the guests, bar one: the guest of honour.

Largely unfamiliar with the traditions and mannerisms of wizarding kind, Nuada hid his distaste as best he could, and bestowed a charming smile upon each of the wizards that Narcissa Malfoy introduced him to. A rather thickly set man and woman approached, and Narcissa laid a slender on Nuada's arm. "Ah, Nuada, you simply must meet Adrian and Amalia Crabbe," she simpered, and he found himself led towards the couple. "Adrian and Amalia: Nuada, son of Belenus. Nuada has kindly offered his daughter to our Draco in marriage," Narcissa purred, her lips forming a pretentious little pout. Unable to tell Adrian from Amalia, Nuada simply nodded politely. "Ah, and just over here we have Ackerly and Tawnie Nott . . ."

Names and faces started to blur, and eventually Nuada stopped being able to tell any of the wizards apart. Pleading fatigue, he retreated against a wall, and hastily stepped away from a large plant that suddenly bared it's teeth and took a snap at him. His cool, normally elegant composure had abandoned him over an hour ago, and he now found himself constantly on edge.

"I really have no idea what Narcissa was thinking when she ordered that plant," Lucius Malfoy said softly, appearing out of nowhere beside Nuada. Politely ignoring Nuada's start of fright, he continued. "I rather think that price tags dazzle the common-sense out of my wife, sometimes." Taking his eyes off the snarling plant, Malfoy focussed on Nuada, assessing him and secretly amused by Nuada's obvious loss of face. My, how the table has turned, he mused to himself. I remember a time when you smirked over my lack of composure, whilst you were so cool and collected. He smiled politely. "Our little party is not over-tiring you, I hope?"

Nuada's lips quirked upwards, and for a moment Lucius wondered if Nuada knew what he had been thinking. "Tiring, no. But there are so many names to remember . . . " Nuada paused and surveyed the room. There were easily well over three hundred wizards and witches in the room. "Have you invited the entire wizarding world?"

Privately, Lucius was pleased by the assumption. It was true, a large number of British wizards were now affiliated with the Death-Eaters, if not Death-Eaters themselves. The three hundred or so within the room were all affirmed servants of the Dark Lord, each bearing the mark of Voldemort on their arms; outside of their number there were plenty of as yet un-initiated but more than obedient servants to the Dark Lord. Lucius coughed and smiled. "There are a lot of wizards and witches here, yes, but they by no means make up the entire wizarding world. These are simply the more . . . important of our kind. These wizards make up the larger part of the pure-blooded population of Britain. I think you will find them highly enlightening, and beneficial to your education and understanding of our world." Raising a crystal glass to his lips, Lucius effectively covered the secretive smile that pulled at his mouth. Across the room, a tall, thin wizard discreetly gestured at Lucius. "Rye Mulciber seems to require my presence. If you'd be so kind as to excuse me?" Without waiting for a response, Lucius strode away, leaving Nuada alone once more, one eye carefully trained on the fanged plant to his left.

For a moment, Nuada revelled in his solitude, but it was almost immediately broken by the appearance of a rather pale faced man and his equally pale wife. Names flitted through his mind before he finally settled on Ackerly and Tawnie . . . was it Nopp? Nobb? Nott.

"Nuada, how are you enjoying Malfoy hospitality? Always rely on the Malfoy family to put on a good show, I say," Ackerly said in clipped, austere tones. "And so they should, too. Some of the most pure-blooded wizards in the world, these Malfoys."

Nuada inclined his head politely. "Pure-blood . . . your people put much importance on this concept of pure-blood. I'm not sure I understand . . . what exactly does it mean?"

Ackerly gave a thin smile. "Glad you asked, Nuada. Pure-blooded wizards are the finest that wizarding kind have to offer. Seems that through the ages, certain wizards and witches have strayed from their own kind to join with muggles, of all things. Taints the blood, it does. We call the products mud-bloods, and that's exactly what they are, mind you. Contaminating pure, fine wizarding blood with the blood of muggles. Doesn't do anyone any favours. In fact, it's rather detrimental to our kind - results in squibs, you see."

"Squibs?"

Ackerly nodded, and beside him his wife, Tawnie, affected an offended expression. "Squibs are a rather unfortunate abomination to wizarding kind. That's when a child born of wizarding folk has no magic. Never know where they'll show up, either . . . one transgression with a muggle in the fourteenth century, six hundred years later a squib is born into the family. Wouldn't find that happening in a pure-blooded family, of course."

"These . . . mudbloods . . . what of them?"

Ackerly sniffled in blatant disgust. "Born with magic they don't deserve. They have all the magic of us pure-blooded folk . . . but low of character, like muggles. None of our pure-blooded integrity. That Harry Potter boy was born of a mudblood, and look at him. Not to mention that Granger girl he associates with. Pack of trouble makers. Worst of it is that they're a bad influence on the Pure-bloods unfortunate enough to fall in with them. Look what happened to that Muggle-loving Weasley family. Used to be respectable, that lot, but then Weasley started spending all his time poking his nose into muggle affairs, and now look at them. Living in a pig-sty, that's what. Not to mention those Weasley boys - almost as bad as Potter himself."

"Not to mention that awful Dumbledore," Tawnie said, her voice deep and rich with malice. "Allowing all those mudbloods into the school. Goodness only knows what harm it does to our children, forced to be educated along side those mudbloods." No mention was made of Hermione Granger and the fact that she was the best student the school had seen in well over fifty years.

Lucius once more appeared beside Nuada, politely inclining his head to Ackerly and Tawnie. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Nothing at all, Lucius. Just telling Nuada about those damned mudbloods Dumbledore keeps letting into Hogwarts," Ackerly said.

Lucius looked somewhat forlorn. "Aah yes, Dumbledore," he said softly. "Dumbledore and his little pet, Harry Potter. Yes, rather unfortunate, that boy. The Potter family were some of the finest wizards of our age - just look at James Potter. But then he fell in with that mudblood Lily, and I'm afraid their deaths speak volumes about the folly of mudbloods. Young Harry is further testimony to the corruption of mudbloods. Only a little of their blood in him, but enough to have him running around causing trouble. Why, even running around getting other students killed, like that Diggory boy. Associating with werewolves and unregistered animagi, not to mention Sirius Black, a well known mass-murderer." Lucius paused for a moment, then softly, almost off-handedly, said, "And then of course there was Harry's senseless slaughter of the Greater Basilisk . . ." his voice trailed off and he looked down at his finger tips, sniffing pointedly.

Nuada frowned. "Greater Basilisk?"

Lucius looked faintly surprised. "Why yes, the Greater Basilisk. Last of its kind, too, I believe. Living in the Chamber of Secrets beneath the school. Happily lived there for over one thousand years, then young Potter got whiff of it and that was the end of it. The boy slaughtered it without so much as a by-your-leave."

Nuada's face turned dark. "This Greater Basilisk . . . know you where it came from?"

Lucius looked thoughtful. "I believe it had been beneath the school since the time of the Founders. I rather imagine it was placed there at the same time. No one really knows, of course . . . too late to ask questions now, though."

Nuada's head spun. A Greater Basilisk, the last of its kind . . . could it have been the same stolen in the time of his own father? And this Harry Potter had slaughtered it! The senseless slaughter of a serpent was an offence that none dared to contemplate amongst his people, but to slaughter a Greater Basilisk was a crime too great to conceive of . . . and yet this boy had done so. "This . . . Harry Potter. He is a mudblood, you say?"

Lucius bit down on his lip to cover the sly smile that threatened to cover his features. "Only through his mother's side. Lily's parents were both muggles. Proof of how little it takes to contaminate. It's not so much the muggles that are offensive to us. It's just those damn mudbloods; born from muggles but with the powers of wizards and rotten natures. If only there were some way to control their numbers from spreading, the wizarding world would be a far better place for us all," Lucius ended wistfully.

Nuada looked vacantly ahead. "Indeed," he said softly. "If only there were a way."

The Early Ninth Century
Spring

Each precinct of the Healing Complex was known to all and sundry as an "island", though in truth, they were nothing of the sort; each district was merely separated from the next by a solid stone wall. The Inner Sanctum was the inner most of the ringed islands, situated at the heart of the Healing Complex. A sandstone pathway wound around the outer walls, and at the top of a large earthen mound stood the Great Temple. The temple was completely circular, as were all buildings within the Healing Complex; it was known to all that sharp angles were not harmonious to the spirit. Sandstone stairs spiralled their way around the huge mound towards the plateau upon which the Great Temple had been constructed. Hundreds of exquisite temples and similar majestic buildings were laid out around the Inner Sanctum, and the streets were beautifully paved in white sandstone, giving the overall sanctuary an immaculately clean appearance. A voice that was stronger and more compelling than a tenor, yet sweeter than any soprano, rung out both day and night, mingling with the eerie hissing of the serpents that shared the Inner Sanctum with the Healers within.

From the height of the Inner Sanctum, one could make out the three solid walls that separated one circular island from the next. The narrowest ringed island was the innermost, and it was here that all the major temples of healing stood, surrounding the Great Temple. On the larger ringed island that lay beyond the innermost circular wall could be found the temples of learning and lesser healing; this district was known as the Central Precinct. Further beyond was the outermost wall, and it was within these walls that markets and trade stations could be found, where wizards and Healers alike mingled freely in what was known as the Outer Precinct. The breeze that drifted lazily over the complex was thick with the sweet scent of jasmine. Resonating from the walls of the Outer Precinct, the sound of melodic voices chanting to the sound of pounding drums was easily discernable above the hum of human conversation. The streets were lined with trees that blossomed during spring and bore heavy fruits during the summer, and throughout spring the Healing Complex appeared to be an island floating above the forest on clouds of pink and white.

From a high tower that stood sentry to the North of the Healing Complex, Aeculapius gazed out across the roof tops of the three precincts, watching the sun slowly sink beyond the far horizon. The Goddess had been wrong to presume that wizarding kind would betray him; it had been a dozen years since he and Chiron had first come through to the mortal world, and he had not a single regret. With him had come too many of his people to count; not simply the Gens Micans, but centaurs, unicorns, dragons and more. The greatest sign of his triumph had been the willingness of the basilisk - patron animal of his people - to leave the Otherworld and settle within the mortal world. The combined powers of his people and the wizards had accomplished nothing but good, and with that, he was well and truly pleased.

Her voice, when it came, was like a whisper carried to him on a gentle breeze, soft and alluring, seductive. "Aesculapius."

He turned to her, and bowed low in reverence. "My Lady. Goddess."

The Goddess smiled and leaned provocatively against a column. "You have done well for your brethren, Aesculapius. Better than I could have imagined."

Aesculapius nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement of the praise, though the momentary flare of his silver nimbus revealed the true extent of his pleasure.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Aesculapius? Will you not gloat of your triumph in the face of my doubts?" The Goddess raised one perfect eyebrow and affected a pretty pout, taking one sultry step towards him.

"Never, my Lady. This triumph is not merely mine, but that of my people, the wizards, and all else who moved from the Patria to the mortal realm. I would not claim personal victory."

The Goddess quirked her lip upwards in an assessing smile, and took yet another step towards Aesculapius, then placed her palms against his chest, curling her fingertips ever so slightly in the folds of his robes. Leaning forward until her lips were nearly brushing his, she softly whispered, "Won't you choose a reward for yourself, Aesculapius? Anything you desire, I shall gift you with." Her lips lightly brushed against his, cold and unearthly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Aesculapius remained perfectly still, giving her no invitation to continue, yet careful not to give any open sign of rejection that might offend her. When he finally spoke once more, she was so close that his lips brushed against hers as they moved. "There is nothing more that I could ask for, My Lady," he said softly, slowly.

For a moment he feared he'd offended her, but she pulled away with a smile. "You lack the greed and lust for power that plagues so many of these wizards, Aesculapius. It pleases me." She slowly allowed her eyes to move up and down his body, before finally looking him in the eye. "If you will not choose a reward of your own, then I shall be forced to choose one for you, and make a gift of it."

Aesculapius gave her a guarded look, knowing the nature of the Goddess he served and wary of trickery.

"Your people have adopted the basilisk as your patron beast; for its healing powers are not unlike your own. It possesses both the gift of healing and protection, but also the ability to bring with it death and destruction. The Greater Basilisk served your people in the Patria, boosting your powers when you would heal my kind. Here in the mortal world, you have no such creature. But I mean to change that." The Goddess clicked her fingers, and the faint outline of an ethereal, wearing the illusion of a young Gens Micans boy, appeared, bearing a large package of soft material. With a flick of her hand, the Goddess gestured for Aesculapius to approach the boy-like ethereal and remove the folds of material. Still wary, Aesculapius took one corner of the cloth, then pulled it away, allowing it to drop to the stone at his feet.

Cradled in the arms of the ethereal sat a large egg.

"It is a Greater Basilisk egg," Aesculapius gasped.

The Goddess nodded. "I give it to you, Aesculapius. To you and your people, and the world you seek to create here. A gift from the Otherworld to the mortal world. Once hatched, it will greatly increase the magic of any who walks before its shadow. Nurture it well, for the Greater Basilisks are a temperamental breed who mirror the psyche of those around them. Treat it well, and so it shall treat all well. Abuse it, and so it shall abuse others." The Goddess sighed, then looked Aesculapius directly in the eye, all evidence of flirtation abruptly gone. "Take good care of it, Aesculapius - it is the last of its kind."

The present

The sun was just setting over the horizon, casting its last faint golden rays over a darkening horizon. The first of the night's stars were slowly appearing in the inky sky, and the sound of creatures of the night coming to life was just starting to be heard. On the virtually silent Malfoy Estate, three men gathered in the darkness.

"You will excuse the strange time of my calling," one said softly, his words undermined by a faint rasping hiss.

"Of course," Nuada replied, at ease with his strange companion. For the first time since his arrival in the mortal world, Nuada felt comfortable and able to relax his guard. Despite the darkness, Voldemort's serpentine eyes - so similar to those of Nuada's own people - were easily visible, and the familiar shape had set him at ease almost immediately, despite the scar tissue that mortified Voldemort's face.

"My illness over the years has left me somewhat sensitive to bright lights, I'm afraid. For many years I tried to curb the spread of mudbloods in our world . . . and then, just when it seemed I might finally cure the world of these abominations, they rose up in a concerted effort against me. What you see before you is the foul work of mudbloods, and their influence on those susceptible to their corruptions," Voldemort muttered a word softly, and the tip of his wand glowed. Raising it up before him, his scarred, unusual face was illuminated. Nuada nodded sympathetically, but remained silent. "A child did this to me. Born of a pure-blood and a mudblood, his magic is unusually strong. He abuses his gift. He could do much for our world, but rather than use it for good, he wreaks a trail of destruction. For many years I was disembodied due to his foul tricks; when finally my strength was returned to me, this was the best form I could conjure." Voldemort muttered another word and the wand ceased glowing.

Nuada nodded, considering what he heard. "I have been told much of these mudbloods, none of it good."

"This boy is one of the worst. He is living proof of why pure-bloods should never be joined with muggles nor mudbloods. Harry Potter is a plague upon not only the wizarding world, but also the muggle world. His muggle family, whom the boy was raised amongst, endured many years of hardship whilst the boy lived with him."

"This is the same Harry Potter that destroyed the Greater Basilisk?" Nuada asked, carefully storing the information in his head.

"I see you have been told of the boy. A shame, his corruption. He could do much . . ." Voldemort paused, taking several steps across the lawns before speaking once more. "But I speak too much of my own woes. Tell me of your world, Nuada of the Gens Micans. Lucius informs me that your numbers dwindle."

Nuada nodded. "My people were never large in number, and over the years our numbers have dropped. We are long lived in the Patria, but this does not make us immortal. Many of us are old, beyond bearing children. If nothing changes, we shall die out soon enough."

Voldemort remained silent, listening intently.

"The success of the union between Lucius's son and my own daughter means much to us. Indeed, the survival of my people may very well depend upon the outcome. Though the offspring of such a union will be both wizard and Gens Micans, we do not view this as problematic. The child could very well take on the best of both our people. The powers of a wizard, with the healing powers of the Gens Micans. Such a child could do wonders for both our worlds."

Voldemort smiled into the darkness. "Indeed. Naturally, the child would need much nurture and careful education, lest he or she turn out like the corrupted mudbloods of this world."

Nuada nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, this has become a concern for me. I had no idea things in your world were so bad. These mudbloods seem a veritable plague upon both wizarding and muggle-kind. Naturally, muggles are unprepared for the effects of magic. It would seem that those born of muggle and wizarding parentage take on the gift of magic, but abuse it with the folly of a muggle."

"I do not blame them. Magic is power, but muggles have repeatedly proven themselves inept at wielding it. Is it any surprise that mudbloods are equally inept? If there were some way to cleanse the world of mudbloods, the wizarding world and the muggle world would be a better place . . . " Voldemort briefly trailed off, covertly peering through the darkness at his companion. "Of course, this is but foolish conjecture. Such a thing is impossible."

"Maybe," Nuada said softly into the darkness.

Walking silently behind his Master and his son's future father-in-law, Lucius allowed himself a small, triumphant smile.

In the Gryffindor common-room, Harry felt an almost blinding stab of pain blaze through his scar. Clamping his hand over his forehead, he gave a short, sharp cry of pain, then rubbed at the lightning bolt in puzzlement as the pain disappeared as suddenly as it had come upon him. Across the room, Ron and Hermione looked across at him in obvious concern, at which point he shrugged and pretended to continue reading.

At the same moment, in the Slytherin common-room, Draco felt an ice-cold chill travel down his spine. Passing it off as one of the many drafts that permeated the Slytherin rooms, he shivered and sent a blue shot of fire at the fireplace, where it crackled and flared up, sending a wave of heat throughout the room.

Lucius rapped his knuckles gently against the closed door to the Malfoy Estate's most ostentatious guestroom. "My Lord?"

"Enter," came the soft hiss of a response.

Opening the door, Lucius did as commanded. His master sat before the fire place, as was his want to do, gazing emptily into the flames. "What is it, Lucius?"

"My Lord, Nuada requests an audience with you. He awaits you within the ante-chamber of his room."

Slowly, Voldemort turned his head, pinning Lucius with his red serpentine eyes. "Well?"

He didn't need to elaborate, Lucius knew what the unspoken question was, and permitted himself a small smile and a slight nod of his head. "Indeed, My Lord, I believe so."

A gasping hiss came from his Master's lips, a laugh of sorts. "Excellent. I shall be with him anon."

Lucius bowed low, then started to leave the room, but stopped at his Master's call.

"Lucius?"

"My Lord?"

"You have done well, Lucius. For nearly seventeen years, my plans were put on hold, yet you have seen to it that they were resurrected from the dead. Your triumph will not be overlooked."

Lucius bowed deeply. "Thank you, My Lord," he said modestly, then withdrew from the room.

Voldemort swept into the room several minutes later, and found Nuada standing by a large window that overlooked a lake situated on the Malfoy Estate. When a small house-elf announced Voldemort's arrival and promptly scampered away, Nuada half-turned from the window, dropping a quick bow before straightening once more. Voldemort mirrored the bow.

"My friend, my thoughts have been with you much these last few days," Nuada said clearly, and gestured for Voldemort to join him by the window. Lucius humbly took a seat, taking a place in the background now that events were apparently going to plan.

Nuada turned once more towards the window, turning his sight upon the vast Malfoy Estates. "Your world is far more stable than my own," he said softly, once Voldemort had joined him by the window. "In my world, the Goddess reigns supreme. Our surroundings change at her whim. But here, everything changes of its own accord, seasonal, periodical, measured. I find myself growing fond of it. As representative of my people, realise that when I talk, I talk not only for myself, but for my people; at least until my daughter has reached an age whereby she can competently act as ambassador."

Voldemort inclined his head politely, but said nothing, allowing Nuada to say his piece.

"Once upon a time, my people lived amongst your own, peacefully. Both our people reached a peak in civilisation at this time. The magic of our people combined was a force that none could reckon with. Life, for both wizards and Gens Micans, was far superior to that which either of us now has. My people are dying out. Yours are corrupted by mudbloods and an ever increasing number of squibs. Soon, my people shall be gone for good, and yours are facing the threat of destruction at the hands of power-drunken mudbloods." Nuada closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and directly faced Voldemort, raising his hands and placing one on each of Voldemort's shoulders. "I have been in thought these past few days. And I have come to a decision that was difficult for me to make. Understand that it has been long since my people were involved with yours. Lucius Malfoy has taken a great step for both our people by permitting the union of his son to my daughter. I would take a bigger step for both our kind. I would help you in your desire to return the wizarding world to its natural balance."

Voldemort remained silent a moment, feigning awestruck pleasure. Feelings of extreme triumph flowed through his body, and he could feel the surge of power like a tidal wave crashing through his veins. Judging that his silence had lasted a suitable duration, he took Nuada's hands within his own, and clasped them tightly. "Then let our people unite for the benefit of both yours and mine."

Nuada gifted Voldemort with a small, tired smile. "As a gesture of good will . . . " The silver nimbus that surrounded his body flared to an almost blinding luminescence, and across the room Lucius through up his arms to protect his eyes. Voldemort closed his eyes in acceptance and understanding of the gesture, and Nuada raised his palms, laying one to each side of Voldemort's face. The silver glow increased. The sound of a softly blowing breeze filled the air, and the faint sound of ringing chimes could be heard, though they sounded detached and far away. Beneath his hands, destroyed flesh slowly mended and recuperated, softening and straightening out until it was smooth and unblemished. His features straightened and took on a more human appearance, and fine strands of soft hair grew from his scalp, settling gently about his shoulders. When finally the silver glow subsided, Nuada took a step backwards and looked at the wizard standing before him. He had the elegant, pale and unblemished skin of the Gens Micans, and his eyes were still serpentine shaped. The rest of his features were human, his ears round like those of any other human, likewise the red shade of his eyes had softened to an amber-brown colour, and his hair was a deep, dark brown.

Across the room, Lucius had risen to his feet. "My Lord," he said in a soft, reverent voice.

Holding his two healed hands up before his eyes, Voldemort laughed, and once more felt a powerful surge of triumph and wicked ambition shoot through his entire being.

Hermione looked up from her book, peering over at Harry in concern. "Is it your scar again?"

Closing his eyes, Harry pressed the heel of his palm against his scar and slowly nodded. "Its been aching a little since the holidays, but every now and then I get these sharp pains-"

"Harry! You're so stupid! Why didn't you tell us that when it happened last time? How could you keep such information from us, don't you know-"

"Because it was hardly anything! I thought it was just nothing, a head ache or something like that. Dumbledore said it was safe for me to leave Privet Drive, so I just presumed that everything was okay . . ."

"Only because he didn't know your scar was hurting. I knew we should have told him when it happened to you the other day."

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron yawned sleepily. "If Harry says it's nothing, it's nothing."

Hermione frowned. "But it's not nothing, is it, Harry? We all heard you cry out just now. That was not nothing."

Harry shrugged, opening his eyes and pulling his hand away from his forehead. It still ached, but the initial sharp throb had subsided. "That was the first time since fourth year that it has hurt that badly. I'd almost forgotten what it was like . . . "

Hermione stood up and crossed to Harry's chair, kneeling beside him. "Harry, you can't just ignore this sort of thing and hope it goes away, or pass it off as being nothing. It's not just about you anymore, don't you see? You have a direct link to Voldemort, you should be using it to our advantage, not ignoring it like it's not there."

"Oh, way to pep talk him, Hermione," Ron said sarcastically. "Why don't you just tell him the fate of the world rests on his shoulders?"

Ignoring Ron, Hermione looked up at Harry. "I think you need to go and talk to Dumbledore. Now that Pettigrew is dead, and Sirius is free again, things are going to change. It's like both sides are preparing to finally make a move. You need to pay attention to what your gut tells you, Harry. It hasn't ever led you wrong before, has it?"

Harry reluctantly nodded. "I'll go see him straight after we've had breakfast."

"Speaking of which," Ron said, standing up. "You about ready to go down, Harry?"

Harry rose to his feet, nodding agreement, then gasped once more.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, quickly laying a concerned hand on his shoulder. He gasped once more, then suddenly his hands flew to his forehead, and a loud cry of agony burst out of his mouth. Dropping to his knees, he screamed once more, his hands gripping tightly at his head as waves of excruciating pain pulsated through him. Looking wildly up at Ron, Hermione gestured wildly. "Fetch Madame Pomfrey, quickly!"

Without needing to be told twice, Ron bolted out of the room, brushing roughly past the students that had gathered around at the sound of Harry's wild cries.

"Harry . . . Harry!" Hermione gasped, roughly wiping away the tears falling down her cheeks and trying to stop Harry from thrashing his body. "Please Harry! You've got to stop, you'll hurt yourself . . ."

Harry gave another hoarse cry, rocking his body back and forth, then gasped out "My scar . . . my scar . . . Voldemort . . . " Hissing the name out, Harry slumped over, losing himself in blessed oblivion.

Voldemort had been studying Nuada well the past few days, and knew perfectly well that the man was no fool. He would need to be careful, now that his plan had finally been birthed.

"There is a way that these mudbloods can be done away with, without bloodshed and violence," Nuada said slowly, as if fearful of Voldemort's response. Voldemort nodded for him to continue. "Unfortunately, they will, in many instances, incur some measure of suffering. I'm afraid it will be unavoidable."

Voldemort nodded his understanding, revealing none of his delight at the mention of suffering. "Continue, please."

Nuada looked somewhat reserved. "My people are not only gifted Healers. To everything, there is an equal opposite. Black is met by white, light by dark, day by night. My people are possessed with the twin powers of healing and protection, coupled with the powers of death and destruction. There have been times, in the past, when we have exercised these darker powers, but only in order to maintain the natural balance of things."

Lucius looked up with interest. "How so?"

"In the past, my brethren and I were given the task of watching over muggle-kind, and ensuring that their numbers did not spread unchecked. When they did, we were given the task of controlling these numbers. The last time we intervened was in the mortal fourteenth century. We cast forth a great plague that wiped out one third of the muggle population."

Lucius nodded his understanding. "You are saying that you can release something similar on the mudbloods, then?"

Nuada hesitated before nodding. "Yes. With the help of the more advanced of my people, I am sure that I could engineer a pestilence that will bring death to all those possessed of mudblood. Muggles and your pure-bloods will not be affected; though those that possess different quantities of mixed blood will be struck to varying degrees. I am afraid your Harry Potter would not be killed by the pestilence. And unfortunately, the pestilence will strike down mudbloods indiscriminately, regardless of their nature."

Lucius looked ready to protest Nuada's words, but was silenced by a look from Voldemort.

"What of a cure?" Voldemort asked.

"That could be arranged, but only at the hand of the Gens Micans. No muggle nor wizard doctor could prevent the spread of the disease, and even the lower ranks of the Gens Micans could not stop it. I can not provide you with specific details as yet, my people will need time to study the make up of these mudbloods before we could engineer the disease. I can only provide you with an outline as yet."

Lucius looked at his master questioningly, a slight frown marring his aristocratic features.

"Perhaps if you would allow Lucius and I some time to discuss this privately . . . ?" Voldemort suggested politely.

"Of course," Nuada replied. "I shall be in my room if you need me." With that, he took his leave and strode with his usual elegance from the room.

The door had barely closed behind Nuada when Lucius rose immediately to his feet. "My Lord, if you will excuse me for saying so, your own blood is somewhat . . ." he trailed off uncertainly.

Voldemort offered a grim smile. "Somewhat . . . tainted? Impure, Lucius? You forget, I am no longer the man I once was. This body that you see before you is not the body I was born with. The blood within the vessel is neither here nor there. I am not at risk of catching the contagion."

Lucius bowed. "Forgive me, My Lord. I had not thought."

"But of course." Voldemort nodded, then allowed himself a small smile. "And so finally the wizarding world will be pure once more."